


She Wants

by HazelG



Category: Game of Thrones (TV)
Genre: F/M, Feelings, Inspired by S8, this demanded to be written
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2019-04-19
Updated: 2019-04-19
Packaged: 2020-01-16 12:58:39
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,301
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/18522010
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/HazelG/pseuds/HazelG
Summary: The prelude to the battle against the dead. Jon and Sansa. Inspired by S8.





	She Wants

**Author's Note:**

> Season 8 has my creative juices flowing big time. I couldn’t not write this little scene that popped into my head.

The Great Hall is packed with people. The stench of wet furs, smoking logs and sweat fill the air, as men and women prepare for battle. Sansa sees a wilding inspecting his dragonglass spear, a woman tying a breastplate onto her body, a little boy – not much older than twelve – trying out his battle axe. Her eyes scan the crowd until she finds the lithe figure of her sister, who is talking to the handsome smith Sansa knows is Robert Baratheon’s bastard son. He bows awkwardly to her as she approaches and then vanishes immediately as if not quite knowing how to handle himself around a lady.

Sansa feels her breath constrict as she looks at Arya. She searches her little sister’s face, looking for permission she is not sure she will receive but then Arya lifts her arms and gives a little almost shrug and Sansa knows it is alright to throw her arms around her. She wraps her arms and hands around her sister’s body and kisses the top of her head and for once Arya does not seem to mind being cuddled. Instead she hugs her back fiercely.

“Be careful out there”, Sansa whispers. “Don’t take any risks, you hear me –“

“Don’t worry.” Arya pushes her away, a smile tugging at her lips. “We both know that there are worse things in the world than the army of the dead.”

They look at each other, each of them reliving that dreadful day in front of Baelor’s Sept. Sansa doesn’t want to remember that now, not when the Dead are knocking at their door and when her whole body constricts, her heart leaps out of her chest with the fear of losing another loved one. Arya nods at something behind her and gives her a meaningful look. Sansa turns and sees Jon and Davos, the latter talking animatedly, but Jon… Jon has only eyes for her.

“Jon has barely talked to you these couple of days”, Arya remarks.

Sansa wants to laugh. That’s an understatement. She doesn’t know what has happened but at some point after his arrival with the dragon queen on his arm he has stopped meeting her eyes, has stopped making calls at her solar. He hasn’t said a single word to her in all of their many meetings in the Great Hall or while making plans for Winterfell’s defence. Sansa doesn’t want to think about it because if she examines Jon’s behaviour too closely, she can come up with only one explanation. That her frosty behaviour towards Daenerys Targaryen has put him off. That he has chosen Daenerys Targaryen over her. _Over our family_ , she quickly amends. _Not me, our family_. Sansa shivers and wraps her arms around her.

Arya’s small hand pushes her forward. “Go to him”, she says but there is no need because now Jon has left Davos in mid-sentence and comes towards her, his gaze never leaving hers. Sansa feels her heart flutter and wills herself to be calm. Out of the corner of her eye, she sees Arya slinking away. But then Jon stands in front of her and Sansa doesn’t want it but it is as if her body moves on its own and she raises a hand and touches his face. He flinches and it is enough to make her snatch away her hand but he takes it immediately and grips it hard, looking at her with an intensity that makes her skin tingle in an all too pleasant way.

“You shouldn’t be here”, he tells her. “It’s not safe. You should be in the crypts!”

“I need to be here. It boosts people’s morale. But don’t worry—” she says as he tugs his eyebrows together, ready to argue with her in the middle of the Great Hall with the attack of the dead imminent. “—I’m not the one in immediate danger though, am I?”

“Sansa, I _need_ to know that you are safe in the crypts.” He says it with a desperate tinge to his voice. Is she imagining that?

“Sansa…”

“Alright”, she says quickly. “Alright. I know. I will go. In a minute.”

But despite her words, she cannot tear herself away from him. His hand is still gripping hers and as she glances down, she puts her other hand on Longclaw.

“Joffrey wanted me to kiss his sword before he went out to fight in the battle at Blackwater.”

Jon makes a strange noise and it takes her a moment to notice what it is: a snort, equal parts disgust and begrudging amusement. “That sounds a little perverted coming from you, my lady.”

Sansa’s mouth falls open while Jon’s lips twitch, but she finds herself smiling, just a bit. “I hadn’t thought of it that way! Thanks for ruining an already hideous memory!”

Jon smiles too, his eyes crinkling and Sansa suddenly finds it hard to breathe. She lifts her fingers again, lets them ghost along his temple, his cheek, his jawline. She feels the tug of pressing a kiss against that jaw.

“Come back to me. To us. Jon, you have to come back.”

His smile fades. “Would that mean so much to you, then?” He sounds so vulnerable that she wants to fall into his arms – or slap him. How dare he ask her that? How dare he look at her as if she means something to him when he hasn’t talked to her in days, when he has been off gallivanting with Daenerys Targaryen and when he –

Her thoughts come to an abrupt halt. Her entire tirade she wants to throw at him vanishes into thin air. Suddenly his forehead is pressed against hers, their noses bump, their breath mingles and she wants, she wants, she _wants_.

“I can’t do this without you.”

“You can.” He is breathing heavily.

“I don’t want to”, she whispers. “You are not going to leave me alone with your dragon queen, are you?”

“She’s not my dragon queen”, he whispers back. His hands are at her waist, gripping the heavy fabric as if he wants to rip it off. He must feel her shivering under his touch. Is he trying to push her away or pull her towards him?

“Sansa, there is something that I need to tell you. About my mother –“

“Jon Snow!” Tormund Giantbane’s shout cuts through all of the noise in the Great Hall, but it is the fear in his voice that makes Sansa’ heart stop. ”They are at the gates!”

Jon’s entire demeanour changes. His hands leave her waist, he leans back and Sansa feels bereft. She blinks as he turns to a man in wilding clothes she doesn’t know and yells at him to get her to the crypts, now!

And then he runs through the crowd, away from her and the wilding man takes her by the arm and marches her out of the Great Hall before Sansa can say or do anything. She cranes her neck to search for Jon, to call after him, but he has disappeared into the crowd, has already thrown himself into the battle.

It is not Jon she finds, but purple eyes narrowed at her. The dragon queen stands a bit elevated from the rest of them and she is watching Sansa with piercing eyes and a slight snarl of her lips. But Sansa can’t bring herself to care as the wilding man ushers her out of the Hall and into the courtyard. All Sansa can feel is Jon’s hands on her body, his breath against her lips, his gaze that seemed to desperately convey something and how much she wanted to stay in his arms until the world ended – or until it burned around them.

And in that moment, she admits it. At last she admits it to herself. _I love you._

**Author's Note:**

> Obviously, this hasn’t a proper beginning – and not quite a real ending and it is not polished either. Also, I think this is my first story that I’ve written in the present tense which was very new to me. I wrote this in one sitting and barely edited but it just demanded to be written and I hope you find joy in this. I certainly enjoyed writing it!


End file.
